red me the pleasure of an interview with you."

He then, as directed by Mrs. Gaunt, proceeded to flatter the mother and
the child, and exerted those powers of pleasing which had made him
irresistible in society.

Here, however, he found they went a very little way. Mercy did not even
smile. She cast out of her dove-like eyes a gentle, humble, reproachful
glance, as much as to say, "What! do I seem so vain a creature as to
believe all this?"

Sir George himself had tact and sensibility; and by and by became
discontented with the part he was playing, under those meek, honest
eyes.

There was a pause; and, as her sex have a wonderful art of reading the
face, Mercy looked at him steadily, and said, "_Yes_, sir, 'tis best to
be straightforward, especially with women-folk."

Before he could recover this little facer, she said, quietly, "What is
your name?"

"George Neville."

"Well, George Neville," said Mercy, very slowly and softly, "when you
have a mind to tell me what you came here for, and who sent you, you
will find me in this little room. I seldom leave it now. I beg you to
speak your errand to none but me." And she sighed deeply.

Sir George bowed low, and retired to collect his wits. He had come here
strongly prepossessed against Mercy. But, instead of a vulgar, shallow
woman, whom he was to surprise into confession, he encountered a
soft-eyed Puritan, all unpretending dignity, grace, propriety, and
sagacity.

"Flatter her!" said he, to himself. "I might as well flatter an iceberg.
Outwit her! I feel like a child beside her."

He strolled about in a brown study, not knowing what to do.

She had given him a fair opening. She had invited him to tell the truth.
But he was afraid to take her at her word; and yet what was the use to
persist in what his own eyes told him was the wrong course?

Whilst he hesitated, and debated within himself, a trifling incident
turned the scale.

A poor woman came begging, with her child, and was received rather
roughly by Harry Vint. "Pass on, good woman," said he, "we want no
tramps here."

Then a window was opened on the ground floor, and Mercy beckoned the
woman. Sir George flattened himself against the wall, and listened to
the two talking.

Mercy examined the woman gently, but shrewdly, and elicited a tale of
genuine distress. Sir George then saw her hand out to the woman some
warm flannel for herself, a piece of stuff for the child, a large piece
of bread, and a